Chief Mom
by diablobruh587
Summary: Simple little one-shot of what Chief Vick thinks one day watching her four favorite detectives hard at work (Shawn and Gus are detectives too!). No pairings or anything, just a cute little one-shot. Read and review, peeps!


_**I'm writing you guys a one-shot because I may not get time to post very much, so when I do I'd like to kind of do a story vomit and get as much out as I possibly can (what a lovely image I have just created for you). I hope you enjoy! Kind of an interesting take on Chief Vick—a very underappreciated character. Do not own anything! Remember to read and review so I can improve.**_

She felt like a mother. She kept track of the children as they went about their daily adventures. She reprimanded them when they stepped out of line. She comforted them when life was too much for them to handle.

She never expected that she would mother more than one child. In fact, she never wanted to. But she grew to love being the matriarch of the Santa Barbara Police Department. She enjoyed being the one everyone looked up to. Every day, she would walk into the station and smile at her officers, who all lovingly smiled back. Even Lassiter would sometimes grin at her.

She knew each one by name. Officer Steiner over there had just passed his GED exam and was trying to fill out all his paperwork to attend college. Sergeant Martin had just broken up with her first boyfriend and was spending almost every night with a pint of Ben and Jerry's and a Humphrey Bogart movie. Officer Haggard had pulled night patrol for three straight days now and he foolishly hadn't readjusted his sleep schedule. That one was engaged, that one was getting divorced. That one was expecting twins, that one had to attend a funeral on Saturday. She knew all of them personally—probably better than they knew themselves.

But some of her children were still a mystery to her. She sighed and eyed the four people gathered around a desk in the bullpen, childishly joshing each other and snapping at one another to be quiet. Mr. Guster perched on the edge of the desk, throwing handfuls of popcorn into his mouth. He spoke with his mouth full and spewed little bits of popcorn all over Mr. Spencer, who elbowed his arm roughly. Mr. Spencer's behavior was no better, though. He stood behind Detective O'Hara, and not-so-subtly pinched her bottom every so often, then feigned innocence, blaming the "spirits" (if there was such a thing). O'Hara rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the screen. The dark bags under her eyes betrayed the fact that she hadn't slept in a good amount of time. The woman worked much too hard for her age, though she somehow remained positive. Finally, she looked at her head detective—Lassiter. He sat in the chair in front of the monitor, pointing out things on the screen with the mouse. He studiously ignored the antics around him, though his eyebrow twitched every so often and there was a look of tightly-controlled anger on his face. But, then again, that was always his expression.

These were the personalities they let the world see, but she recalled the times when each of them had let their guard down to her—to their mother.

When Mr. Spencer had been shot, Mr. Guster had come to her office in tears (not sympathetic ones— _his_ tears) and babbled to her that he was sorry and he should have never let Shawn go out alone and it was all his fault. She remembered how she'd listened all through his ramblings and then assured him that whatever happened was not his fault, that he was a good friend, and that Mr. Spencer would be okay. He'd looked at her with such gratitude that she thought he would begin crying again, but he only took a deep breath, thanked her, and walked into the bullpen to resume the search.

After Mr. Yin struck the second time, Mr. Spencer had come into her office to fill out the necessary paperwork. She'd asked him all the questions and he'd given the standard answers with no emotion. Finally, she asked if he was alright, and he responded by breaking into hysterical sobs. She'd walked around his desk and pulled a chair next to him, rubbing his back soothingly until he subsided, and then reminding him that everyone he cared about was okay, and there was nothing to worry about. As though he had not been crying in the first place, he immediately hopped up, thanked her, and left.

After Detective O'Hara's ordeal, she'd been so disoriented and scared that she had suggested desk duty for a while. There'd been no protest—she only nodded. But when she came back, she thanked her profusely for the break, and nearly broke down in tears when she regaled how close she'd been to dying that night in the clutches of Mr. Yin. They'd hugged for a long time and then parted ways like nothing ever happened.

Detective Lassiter was never one to show emotion, and to her knowledge, he'd only shown her true emotion once in his life. When Detective O'Hara was on desk duty, he'd come into the room, shut all the doors, closed all the blinds, and then just stood across from her and sobbed. She'd gone over and embraced him. They stood like that for over an hour. And then, just like that, it was over. He reopened all the blinds, wiped his eyes, thanked her, and walked out.

That was the pattern in her line of work: let the emotions out every so often, then pick yourself up and move on. She didn't mind—that was how she preferred to deal with her or anyone else's emotions. And she knew that's how her officers preferred it, too. But still, it was nice to be the mom occasionally. To hold a person in her arms and tell them it would be okay.

She had to admit, some days, she really loved her job.

"Chief Vick, we've got another naked drunk in holding cell four."

She sighed. This was not one of those days.


End file.
